


Make Me Look Good

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Penetration, Undercover, vouyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is undercover as a prostitute and has vital information. The only way Coulson can return the said information is to buy him for the night. As an added curveball, it happens on the night where the house has a sex-auction. </p><p>(Or: the sex-interrogation fantasy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Look Good

**Author's Note:**

> I missed the CC fandom so much so I had to write this. It's been bugging me for awhile now. Basically, I had this fantasy sex-interrogation thing in my head for the longest time.

"Coulson, report."

Fury's voice on the private channel awakens in his ear. They were ordered to be radio silent for the rest of the operation. It was atypical for his handler to resume contact without prior feedback. At a time like this, it must be extremely important because Phil was in the middle of a long undercover operation.

 "We're just received confirmation from primary one that vital information has been extricated. Your new mission parameters are to establish contact and retrieve said information without breaking cover. You are authorized to take action at _whatever means necessary_."

"Noted" Phil manages to whisper with barely a movement from his lips. "What are my new orders?"

He's been sent a secondary back-up for two other operatives on the field. Their identities were hidden even amongst each other. Compartmentalization was necessary due to the high-risk nature of their target---nuclear test codes of North Korean missiles.

"Red Room. Midnight."

Phil pales minutely when he hears the location. He's been gallivanting around with the foulest of the foul for the better part of six months. He knows what's inside _that_ room and the very idea of it makes him sick to the stomach. God knows what inhumane events landed one of their assets _there_ and how valuable this information was in order to merit such worth.

"Who?"

There's a snort on the other end of the line, undoubtedly accompanied by an eye roll.

"Trust me. You'll know."

"Copy, sir. Going silent."

Phil forces himself to stand a little straighter and makes his way into the bowels of the devil's pit. He adjusts the waist coast of his three-piece suit on the way there. The suit is dark but not entirely black with thin threads of blue woven into the fabric to made it glimmer under the multicoloured strobe lights. It's meticulously tailored to hide the small artillery that he's been carrying around all night.

The Red Room, as it is infamously known for, is red--crimson to be exact; it's the colour of dark oxygenated blood that is well on its way to drying in the middle of an abandoned warehouse with a concrete floor. The room has a 360 degree multilevel arena layout with lush couches and various types of seating instead of individual theatre-seats.

Phil enters and a man immediately greets him.

"James"

"Tom" he gingerly approaches the blond.

Tom is one of his contract. An American _consigliere_ for a very powerful Italian family in New York. He's a medium build man, taller than most, with slicked back blond hair that emphasized his receding hairline. An uncooperative head of hair was one of the reasons they got along so well. He is also Phil's secondary patron for the club.

"It's marvellous to have you here. It's been ages!"

Phil inwardly stopped his flinch. The last time he was here, a woman was suspended from the ceiling and flogged raw until she bled. He wasn't overly fond of the memory and kept away from this room as much as his parameters would allow him. Thankfully, more information was out of the floor than here at the exclusive back room.

"I was in a mood for something different."

"That's perfect!" Tom says, clapping him on the back. "Come sit down with us. They've got a special show for tonight." He wiggles his eyebrows at Phil as they sit down on the third row. "It's rumoured to be _interactive_... for the right price, of course."

On cue, the lights dim though the rest of the room except for centre. There's large thick red curtains hanging from the ceilings, effectively hiding the circular stage. Phil knows exactly why _he_ was chosen for this op instead of other higher ranking field agents; he has the _best_ goddamn poker-face in SHIELD and nothing outwardly fazed him--but this does.

Inside a tubular glass cage is none other than Clint _fucking_ Barton. He's dressed in nothing but a sheer loin cloth with a thin sheen of sweat worrying over his body. It hides absolutely nothing his near Adonis-like physique and gorgeous golden tan skin. His heart sinks.

Clint opens his eyes and glares fiercely at the crowd. The bidding wars start and the a-hole who has the deepest pockets will win the opportunity to _fuck him_ in front of the entire room.

He gets an overwhelming urge to call off the op right then and there but that is not the proper decision nor was it one that he was authorized to make. He may be on the handler track but it doesn't mean that he can make brash decisions out in the field especially with a limited scope for information. He bites the inside of his cheek in distaste. If Barton is here, it meant that _he_ was the primary operative on the case and Phil was instructed to get that information through _whatever means necessary_.

So, he places the winning bid.

"Woah. James! I didn't think that you had it in you! That piece of meat is gorgeous."

He hears Tom whisper from behind him but it barely registers in his brain. He's too fixated on his new target that is standing in the middle of the stage without a flinch. He sees the exact moment that Barton recognizes him but it's only because he's been watching the man's progress with wanton perversion since he first entered SHIELD. Barton was on the road to becoming of the agency's better assets.

Barton who started out as a mouthy-ass insubordinate probie and now who is well on his way to becoming a full-fledged specialist. Phil _knows_ about Barton's dark past; the foster home, the circus, the merc days. He can see with his eyes the way that _this entrapment_ is affecting the other man and Barton is keeping a straight face with heavily guarded bravado. It's an exemplary show of character on the field.

It takes him forever to make his way into the light. He's guided into the cage with minimal fuss then he's standing in front of a nearly naked Clint Barton.

Barton is fully erect, flushed red down to his torso, but his face is passive.

Their eyes meet and Phil minutely nods his head.

Phil closes the gap between them until they are pressed against each other.

"SitRep, Agent" he says, hovering over Barton's lips in mere millimetres. The blond makes a show of fluttering his eyes in arousal and inhales deeply.

"Minimal sound-proofing but no audio listening devices, sir."

Phil nods and leans closer. "Any requests, Barton?" he asks against the naked man's lips.

"Make me look good."

Phil closes the gap between them. He does not know for sure how much of it is an act and how much is a real reaction but Barton mewls into the kiss. The other completely and utterly surrenders himself to Phil, arching his back seductively while simultaneously grinding his solid flesh on the front of Phil's slacks, right against Phil's steadily growing cock.

Phil grabs the back of Clint's head and pulls, hard, making the other man gasp at the sudden throb on the back of his scalp. He licks up Clint's neck and feathers a trail of kisses on the column of flesh. He feels Clint's hands fasten on his waist for balance. It digs almost painfully. He hisses and conveys his disapproval by nipping the golden tanned skin at the base of Clint's throat and sucks a large bruise right under the blond man's ear.

"Any time, Barton. I'll be listening all the way." he whispers right beside the ear. "And don't move your lips too much unless your moaning." He stresses this point by grabbing Clint's hot erection through the sheer fabric. He feels the man nod carefully. Phil has to make a damn good show for people to avoid detection.

"I'm gonna suck you." he warns before folding gracefully on his knees.

"Jesus Fuck!" Clint actually yells when Phil takes the head into his mouth.

"Focus, Barton!" Phil chastise against the head of Clint's cock. This position makes it viable for him to speak freely without being seen by their spectators. "Think through it, Barton--Clint. We've only got a few minutes before this encounter is over."

Clint runs his hands on the back of Phil's head and pulls lightly. He's looking down. "You can't say things like that, sir." Then he groans because Phil is expertly working his cock.

These were skills that were _not_ standard academy issue, Phil thinks proudly, because he's actually akin to licking cock as well as liking pussy and Barton's cock was nothing to be shy about. It was dark, flushed, and nestles in golden curly pubes. And Barton smelled absolutely delicious.

"Talk to me, Clint." Phil commands one more time. He lets his fingers knead the muscles on the back of Clint's thigh. He lets his nails scrap over the skin and leave dark red marks. Clint hisses from above him. But he continues his motions, going up to where Clint's ass and legs meet. He pads through the bottom of Clint's ass before cupping both cheeks.

"Bend down" he says. "Bend down and you'll have free reign to talk." he murmurs against the side of Clint's ground, licking the side of the shaft and the top of one ball. He lifts Clint's cheeks with both hands, prying it open and exposing it to the rest of the room. He licks his index before rubbing it around the sensitive pucker of Clint's ass.

Clint moans wantonly and does as instructed. It's music to Phil's ear because it almost sounds _real_. He places shaky hands on Phil's shoulder. He curls into a ball, enveloping Phil's body with his. It obscures their audiences view of both of them. He tucks his head between his shoulders, breathing heavily as Phil continues bobbing onto  his cock.

"Shit, Coulson, fuck. _Not too much._ I can't think!" Clint whines with a needy desperate tone. "Ease up, _please_. I--fuck, I'm gonna cum if you continue."

Phil complies and pull off. "Keep bent." he says. "Assplay, okay?"

"Y--yeah" Clint replies shakily. "Just not my cock, please."

Phil lets his fingers wander into the crease of Clint's ass. He pulls off Clint completely but rests his head on the side of Clint's thigh. He keeps working on Clint's ass, letting his wet finger ghost over Clint's rim.

"Okay. That's _good_." Clint moans. "Okay. I can take that."

"Good. Now that information, Clint?"

"R--right."

He squeezes Phil's shoulders one more time to steady himself. Phil hides his hiss by pressing his lips on Clint's inner thighs, pushing it apart with his jaw. The other man wordlessly obeys and spreads his legs wider.

"Codes aren't underground. Not always anyway. It's more on _who_ 's holding them. Guardians change every four hours and the pattern is always, always at random. There's a web of people who are allowed to handle the codes. Two decoys, making it three people simultaneously."

"Chance of hacking?"

Clint shudders are Phil opens his cheeks wider. The crowd was growing less content with their display sexual activity. If they weren't pleased with the show, another patron can be sent it to spice things up. Phil needs to think fast and quickly.

"None. Unless it's a manual hack with direct access."

Phil stands up to his full height and brings Clint with him.

"I assume you have a list." he says before plundering Clint's mouth with his tongue. He carefully manoeuvres Clint back until the younger man is pressed against the cool class. He glides a large warm hand over Clint's side, down one leg before gingerly wrapping it around his own waist.

Clint loops his arms over Phil's shoulders and rolls his hips in an overly seductive manner. It caused the older man to groan and until now Phil had been silent save for the very professional exchanges concerning the mission.

"I do" Clint confesses "It's a long list."

"Flexible?"

"H-what?"

Phil lifts Clint's leg before the other man can even comprehend. Those tales about the circus were definitely not _just_ tales. Clint effectively pulls off a standing split. Phil rests Clint's leg on his shoulder as he works his fingers over the tight ring. As expected, he sees glimpses of the first row bending lover to get a better view of the furl. There's a gasp as he tries to push a finger inside.

"Fuck... you're already..."

"Yeah..." Clint hums, clinging tighter. "Think that'll be enough to entertain them?"

"Oh believe me. Your flexibility is astounding." Phil says back. "Hide your face on my neck and whisper in my left ear. That's where my comm link is. Can you handle me fingering you?"

" _Coulson_ " Clint moans. "Why does it sound dirtier when you're using your debriefing voice? Jesus. Fuck. Okay. You can start with two but we can might even get away without penetration if you keep start with one." He bites slightly on Phil's ear. "I _know_ how flexible I am."

Phil pushes two fingers in as a retort and Clint lets out a silent scream.

"The list, Clint."

Clint's stronger finger are burying themselves on the fabric of his suit jacket. Phil starts a slow but steady pace, working his two fingers inside of Clint's tight channel. Clint does what he's told and buries his face deep into Phil's shoulder.

"C--Connelly, Ga--gagarin, ahhh, R--Romu--lus, ahh, _fuck_ , that feels so _good_..."

"Concentrate, Clint." Phil reprimands with a twist of his fingers that makes the man cry out. He grits his teeth because Barton's weight is literally hanging off his shoulder and it get heavier every time the younger man's knees buckle.

"Sir, yes... _sir!_ "

He deliberately avoids touching anywhere _near_ Clint's prostate as he continues the stretching.

"Names. Tell me there names. Who else can hold the list?" He coos into Clint's hair. It's damp and plastering to the side of Clint's face. He can feel the archer's body heat warming through the layers of his suit. He clings to the edge of professionalism that he can because _fuck_ his fingers are in Barton's _fucking_ ass and it feels like heaven.

"Seven more. A--A- _ahhh_ , Black, Brons--Bronskon, v-v-von S-strucker. _More please Phil more_. I can't--ahh fuck the drugs. I can't..."

"I've got you" Phil assures before readjusting his grip. He tries to stroke Clint's leg with the side of his face. "I've got you. Keep talking. Last four people. Who are they?" He carefully slips a third finger alongside the first two and stop when Clint tenses up.

Clint makes a shaky nod. Phil begins a new, pumping three fingers in and out of Clint steadily.

"Wood--man, B--Brown, Tro--oh--fuck shit"

Phil holds, fingers concealed up to the third knuckle. His pinkie brushed over Clint's crease and his thumb pressed against Clint's perineum. He waits for the muscles to cease the tight grip on him. He peppers the side of Clint's neck with multiple soothing kisses until other man relaxes.

"Last one" he murmurs onto the skin. "Last one, Clint, who is it?"

"Strang" it comes out soft and breathy.

Phil rewards him by starting to move again but shallower, barely moving past the second knuckle before he's pushing forward again. Clint arches off the glass and starts to cum all over the front of Phil's suit, staining the dark fabric with white ropes of cum.

"Shit." Phil curses as Clint shudders against him. Now, they odds have caved out of their favour. With Clint cumming, they lost their excuse _not_ to penetrate. He needed to think. He needed to think fast---

"Do it"

"What? Barton.. Clint? I---I don't have any condoms. I can't."

Clint's grip on his biceps are near painful.

"Look at them, Phil. If not you, they'll send another one of those anonymous faces in here to fuck me. I'd rather it be you."

"O--okay" Phil replies, still somewhat uncertain if _this_ should be the right course of action. But he doesn't have much time to think. He spins Clint around and makes a show of pulling back the spiky blond hair with his dirty hand. "Hands against the wall. Hide your face as much as you can. Keep your head down."

Phil hates this. He _hates_ exposing Clint like this---like he's another common whore in this whore house. Goddamnit. He's gonna kill his motherfucking handler for not _handling_ this better. Seriously? An agent of SHIELF being sent in as a piece of meat for all these vile men to enjoy? It makes him sick.

"P--phil?"

"I'm here. I just..." _don't want our fucking first time to be like this_ "...is there anything else you need to tell me?"

Clint's breathing is harsh and hard but he manages to steady it after a few seconds.

"Y-yeah..."

"Okay. I... I might need to go _all the way_." Phil warns.

Clint lets out a half. "Go all the way" he repeats with a chuckle. "What are we 16? I know you need to fuck me. It's okay. It's okay. Just.." he clenches his ass involuntarily at the thought of Phil's cock inside him "... make me look good, okay?"

"I will. Talk to me, Clint. We've only got a few more minutes before this is all over."

"They never repeat the same carrier for consequent cycles."

Phil skims his hands over Clint's back appreciatively but says nothing. He works his belt and his trousers with a free hand. Clint's back is sweaty and damp but it feel so, so good to hold. In another time, he would have cherished this flesh underneath his fingers with everything he had but not now. Clint's been very responsive to his touches. He won't let the other _see_ what else he can make the blond scream out.

"Clint" he whispers as he lines himself. He bends forward and blankets the archer's back this his chest. "Who has the codes now?"

Clint lets out a long needy whine. One of his hands fly out to grip Phil's ass as he is being impaled.

"Bronskon, Connelly, Trojak. I-- _oh holy fuck_ \--I don't know who has the real codes."

Phil begins to set an unhurried pace, pulling out shallowly before thrusting in deeper than before. He snakes and arm around Clint's front, playing with the archer's nipples with his nails. It sets of a series of trembles from the other man.

"That's good" he praises. He lowers his ministrations to Clint's hip, to the vee of his legs and down to his balls. Clint's cock makes a valiant effort to rise again. "One more. One more orgasm and you'll be good. They won't try to milk more from you for tonight. Do you think you can cum again?"

Clint nods.

"Good." Phil hums. He racks his brain for any more questions that he needs to fill in. "Who's the contact, Clint? Do you know?"

Clint nods again.

Of the three names mentioned, Connelly was the only one in top brass. She most likely had the codes. However, she was also in the middle of the dance floor which meant that any other asset approaching her would be discovered and killed on sight.

"When's the next exchange?"

He doesn't mean to thrust harsher than before but he does and Clint screams. He clenches _hard_ around Phil and for a moment, Phil thinks that me might come from that alone. He pulls out quickly. He's momentarily stunned by the fluttering of Clint's red puffy hole. The man beneath him whines.

"One hour" Clint manages. "Last check in was three hours ago. It should be in an hour."

Phil's mind is addled by lust at the view. It takes him a full minute of staring at Clint's ass before he can even more and when he does it's because Clint has been calling out to him.

"They do it in separate locations but Connelly. She's on the dance floor. The exchange might happen there."

It snaps Phil back into focus. He stands up and lines himself up again.

"Barton" he says very carefully in a low voice, looking for all the world like he was _just_ kneading Clint's round globes. In reality, that was the added bonus to his job. "I'll need you to scream really, really loud, got it?"

"W--what?"

"Really _loud_." Phil repeats. He gives just enough warning before his sheaths himself in one smooth thrust and Clint _screams_.

"Sir, send agents to the floor. We have reason to believe that Cassandra Connelly has the codes. She's on the dance floor right now. The codes will exchange carriers in the next hour. Repeat, Connelly has now become the primary target of this operation until such time that codes are passed on. Acknowledge?"

His comm buzzes into life. It pales in comparison to Clint's scrambling against the wall as he desperately seeks purchase. Phil has to put more than a hundred percent of his concentration on listening to his left ear because Clint was howling like a mad mad, pushing his ass to the cradle of Phil's thighs.

"Phil, _please_ , fuck this out of me. _Please, please, Phil._ "

"Acknowledged." Not even Fury's voice is enough to wilt his erection because Clint _fucking_ Barton is all he can hear.

He slams home over and over again. He can feel the bundle of nerves at the tip of his cock, hitting it every other stroke. It wasn't nearly enough. He grabs for Clint's leg and hauls it up, letting the foot rest against the glass panel. He hooks his hand underneath the bent knee and starts to stroke Clint's glorious cock in his hand.

"Jesus fuck! Oh my god. Sir, fuck, shit. I'm gonna---" Clint yells as Phil's hips become erratic. He braces himself on his arms trusting the other man to hold up his weight. The pace becomes brutal and rough. He's pushes against the wall so as _not_ to hit it with his head. His standing leg shakes with the effort to stand. Heat pools inside his gut.

Phil cannot stop himself. He comes. He opens his mouth and takes a bite on Clint's shoulder.

" _fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_ "

Clint whimpers die inside his throat in an open-mouthed silent scream.  

**Author's Note:**

> [ Inspire me! ](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Send me prompts~ I so desperately want to go back to writing Phlint like my life depended on it. *cries*


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